


And They Were All Yellow

by greeneyedlover13



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Eren is a smoker, Faking dating for like a second??, M/M, There's gonna be some smut later heyo, This kind of has the same beginning as John Green's Paper Towns, kinda sorta, sorry I'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 04:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4045546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greeneyedlover13/pseuds/greeneyedlover13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the summer after Eren's first year of college. With his mother having died barely a year before and his father working through his grief, people would expect Eren to be angry. To be a mess. But he isn't. He's "fine." But on the first night of summer break, Eren finds himself wrapped up in his hot older neighbor's business. A deal is made and Eren might realize how "un-fine" he really is. And he's thinking it's the neighbor's fault for bringing the best and worst out of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And They Were All Yellow

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize to any offended Brads

It was really no surprise to me when I pull into the driveway and my father’s car wasn’t there. It also wasn’t a surprise that the bushes lining the front of the house were overgrowing and looking like messy bedhead that stretched upward, covering the bottom half of the first floor windows. My car windows were down, so the air in my car was stuffy and humid. It’s not that I don’t have air conditioning—I do, trust me, my father wouldn’t have it any other way for his only son—but as I drove the four hour drive back from college, I thought I’d tough out the humid weather.

The sun was just touching the roof of the house, slingshotting beams of light into every which direction. With the key still in the ignition, my eyes follow each ray of sunlight lazily, observing where they went and estimating where they touch the ground. When I was younger, my mother tried to tell me that when I could see a ray of light, it meant that that was someone’s ride to heaven. I’m sure she meant it to be sweet, like everything she ever did and said, but my comeback was, “So people who die at night go to hell?”

She laughed of course, and told me nothing could ever get by me.

The house looked malnourished. It was pathetic. Judging by the newspapers collecting on the asphalt at the end of the driveway and the empty garbage cans laying dejectedly next to the mailbox, I’d guess Dad hasn’t been home in days. Maybe a little more than a week.

I’m gonna have to drop by the hospital to say hello. Or maybe just send him a message. He’d love to see me, but he’d appreciate the message more. Whatever, I’ll see him eventually.

Unpacking my belongings from the car and hauling them into the house takes about fifteen minutes. I definitely have more stuff than I had when I arrived at Wall Maria University, but my roommate, Armin, helped me organize and pack much more travel friendly than I did by myself nine months ago. As I heave each box up and out, I read over each labeled box he marked, his handwriting neat and slightly girly.

He has bubble letters. Cute, but unfairly feminine.

Once everything is dropped either in the kitchen or the den near the front door, I walk slowly through the empty house that walls me in. There’s dust collecting on the picture frames. The hardwood floors look like they haven’t been swept and mopped in a century. The kitchen is void of the little things that made it our kitchen: the bowl of apples and oranges on the countertop, the children’s drawings on the fridge my mother would bring home almost every day from her daycare job, the overflowing trashcan filled with coffee filters and creamer containers.

Now, this kitchen is a graveyard. If I were to take a picture of it and post it on some Craigslist site, people would think I’m selling an abandoned house.

When my eyes leave the sad, empty kitchen tops, my eyes roll over to the kitchen table where a piece of paper awaits me. My father’s messy writing engraved onto the sheet.

_Eren, I’m at a conference. Won’t be home for a while. Left $5oo in your account. Text if you need more. Tell Mikasa the same when she gets home. Stay safe. Love you, Dad._

I sigh. “And you couldn’t call me and tell me this why?” I ask aloud, exasperated, but not surprised in the slightest.

Because phone calls entitle conversations. Conversations entitle catching up. Catching up entitles emotions. My father just doesn’t have emotions anymore.

I’m worried for him, but that only does so much.

I walk back outside and sit down on the front step. In less than a second I have a lit cigarette between my lips. Mikasa isn’t supposed to be home for three days, her exams scheduled after mine, so I don’t have to worry about her catching me.

She knows I smoke. Dabbled in it a bit when I started so she could still be able to connect with me, but quickly realized that smoking isn’t her thing and has been trying to make me feel the same ever since.

Mom knew I smoked. She didn’t like it, but always asked for one whenever she got drunk with the neighbors.

Speaking of neighbors, I eye the shining silver Mazda that sits at the end of their driveway. That can only mean one thing.

My super hot older neighbor is home.

Exhaling, I grin a little. I never learned his name, was always too shy or embarrassed to ask my mother who was friends with his mother. So in my head, I call him Brad, because he looks like the total opposite of any Brad I have ever met and will ever meet.

Last I saw him was about six months ago during Winter break. It was only a glimpse, but it was enough to notice the real change his body has gone through. It was really late, probably two-something in the morning. I was on the very step I’m on now, of course smoking a cigarette, when I hear the neighbor’s front door open. I had glanced over to see a half-naked Brad sprint from the front door to his silver Mazda.

I was completely baffled. Snow was literally falling from the sky and this guy just runs outside wearing nothing but black boxer briefs. Black boxer briefs that hugged his thick muscular thighs like they were painted on him. In the orangey streetlight, I saw the pale skin of his chest and back stretched over packed muscle. His arms were wrapped around his torso, the muscles in his arms bulging. His black hair, that when I usually saw neat and smooth, was ruffled and off centered.

I watched as he opened his passenger seat door and open the airbag compartment. The streetlight glinted against the foiled square he held in between his fingers.

Then he was gone, the car door slammed shut, and the front door locked.

I’m not proud to say my cigarette fell from my gaping mouth.

Or that it burned a hole in my favorite pair of sweatpants.

But what can I say, God gave me an unexpected treat that night.

Stomping out the ember of my finished cig, I remain seated on the front step. The colors in the sky were slowly fading into night and a light breeze brushed up against me and the house.

The silence was weird. All year the few friends I had had made it their mission to keep me living. Keep me sane. To keep me alive. That involved endless taunts from Jean, many free hotboxes with Connie and Reiner, free tabs of acid courtesy of Bertholdt, an unhealthy amount of McDonalds provided by Sasha, and many neglected nights of studying to play Xbox with Armin.

Fuck, I love those guys. Without them, I’d be as bad as Mikasa thinks I am.

With a huff, I decide that’s enough time procrastinating. I need to take all my belongings upstairs to my room.

 

***

 

“Why do I have so many fucking clothes?” I hiss through my teeth. T-shirts, shorts, hoodies and jackets, jeans, and sweaters are dumped onto my floor. The hangers in my closet are all used up, and my dresser is overflowing and unable to fully close.

“When the fuck did I get so many clothes?” I keep asking, because I’m still confused.

The digital clock on the bedside table reads 11:48 p.m. I’ve been unpacking for nearly three hours, not including a pee break, two cigarette breaks, and a quick run to Sonic. All of my posters are back on my wall. My desk trinkets and laptop are good to go. My books and movies back on their shelves. My TV in place and plugged in. My pillows and blankets neatly spread out of my queen sized bed. The only thing left are the clothes.

So many fucking clothes.

I shake my head. “Nope. No. Not gonna deal with it. That’s future Eren’s problem.” I step over my clothes and tiptoe through the remaining carpet spots to my desk, where I pick up my cigarettes and lighter, and maneuver my way out the room and downstairs.

The night air is chiller than what it was a few hours ago and the sky is pretty clear, so I decide to sit in the middle of the driveway instead of on the front step. Having my house at the very end of a cul de sac, I can sit and see any car that turns down my street. My house and “Brad’s” house or the only ones on the cul de sac, so unless someone needs to turn around, no one really drives all the way down the street.

The silver Mazda is still seated in the driveway. Looking up at the neighbor’s house, I see majority of the lights are off, save for one on the far left, furthest away from my house. I’m not sure if that’s “Brad’s” room or not, but going of my house, the master bedroom would be on the other side, so there’s a possibility that I’m looking up at “Brad’s” room.

It’s only when I try to see pass the closed curtains that I realize how creepy I’m being that I turn around and light up my cig. The first exhale is the best. It’s a reoccurring first meeting. A gentle, “it’s nice to meet you, though I must know you from somewhere.” A friend you don’t really notice you have until you’re reminded of them.

But you know, the second inhale is just as good.

I slowly lower myself to lay down on the pavement. My back hurts as I straighten it out, and my arms are sore from the heavy lifting, but other than that I feel fine. I’ve gotten used to just feeling fine. Not great. Not wonderful. Not awful. Not miserable.

Just, you know, fine.

That scares Mikasa. I know she’s waiting. Fuck, the whole world is probably waiting for my meltdown. How can they not? Though I don’t like to admit it, I’m probably hotheaded and emotional. I’m not an idiot, I know my flaws.

I know I was the problem child that got into fights every week. I know I was the kid that always had a Band-Aid on their body and a cuss word on their lips. I know I’m expected to be an angry adult, since I was an angry child.

I know I was supposed to shoot the coop when my mother died almost a year ago.

I’m not dumb. I know Mikasa is worried that I haven’t shown the slightest sliver of anger towards it. Or to Dad who is working himself to death out of grief and misery. Or to her for _always_ bringing up Mom when she calls me.

According to the world and her, I’m supposed to be angry.

But right now, I’m just fine.

The stars are out and I’m fine. And before I know it, my lips are mouthing a song my mother loved.

_Look at the stars, look how they shine for you._

A grin splits across my cheeks. I can almost hear Connie and one of his favorite phrases.

_“Wanna know how I know you’re gay? You listen to Coldplay.”_

“Not gay,” I reply to the Connie in my head, “bisexual.”

See, I’m just fine.

It’s when I’m lighting up for second cigarette the calm silence of the night is shattered by a front door opening and closing.

With the lit stick between my lips, I turn my head left and see “Brad” storming down his sidewalk.

_Shit, he looks good_ , I can’t help but think.

The amount of muscle I saw on him near Christmas is nothing compared to know. By god, this dude is ripped. His red t-shirt with a black studded breast pocket stretches across his broad chest and wide shoulders. The red material looks abused around his thick arm muscles. And his black jeans… A gift from the Almighty God himself I presume.

Truly a treasure to this world.

I turn my head back to avoid him catching me looking, because he looks fairly pissed, and bring the tobacco back to my lips. I close my eyes as I inhale, and just let the stars’ light wash over me. Or maybe the streetlamp light. Whichever is cool.

A nudge against my thigh is what makes me open my eyes.

“Brad” is standing next to me. “Brad” is looking down at me.

“Brad” is staring angrily at me.

My mouth opens and closes for a second before I regain my marbles. “Hello.” I offer.

“Brad” just raises a thin black eyebrow.

“How old are you?” he asks, his eyes not wavering.

My brows crinkle in confusion. “Twenty,” I reply slowly.

Why does he need to know my age?

“Then aren’t you old enough to know that smoking is fucking bad for you?” His voice is low and almost husky.

My mouth opens a little and my face twists in disgust. The nerve of him! Nothing stops me from replying back harshly.

“You can just fuck right off, asshole.”

This time, both of “Brad’s” eyebrows lift. His almond shaped eyes widen a bit and I watch a slow smirk erupt from his face.

“Hm,” he hums. “Not bad.” Then he sits down onto the driveway next to me.

I sit up quickly, turning my body to face him. My face must reflect my inner question, _what the fuck_ , he rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to bum me a cig or not? I don’t have all night.”

Utterly confused—and weirdly turned on? What’s wrong with you, Eren?—I pass over a cigarette and my lighter. I watch with a distant interest as he slides the filter in between his thin, but soft looking lips and lights the end, before inhaling and tilting his head back to blow smoke up into the night sky. The slope of his throat is pale and seemingly untouched. It’s a bit taunting, really.

“So, what’s your name, kid?” He asks, lowering his head to look at me.

“Eren,” I mumble hesitantly. I honestly don’t know what to expect from this guy. I’ve only ever seen him from a distance. I’ve never heard his voice before, none the less have it directed towards me.

“Cool.” His eyes aren’t leaving mine.

“But it’s spelt weird.” I say, letting the nerves of him being near get to me.

A jet of smoke is blown near my face. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I smile nervously. “It’s spelt E-R-E-N.”

“Brad” nods briefly. “Thanks for the spelling lesson, E-R-E-N.”

A lick of irritation flows through me. “I was just making conversation. At least I’m not the dick who’s rude to people they just meet, _Brad._ ” I finish my cigarette and throw the butt behind me. I exhale almost angrily. This guy might be hot, but he’s a dick.

The smirk on his terrible face deepens. “Brad? Who fucking told you my name is Brad?”

I scowl at him, offended he’s still talking to me. “No one, that’s just what I call you.”

“Brad” throws his spent cigarette butt away too. “Can I ask why?”

“Because Brads are usually asshole frat boys!” I lie hurriedly.

The beautiful man across from me tilts his head back towards the stars again, but this time to laugh.

Not gonna lie, my world stops for a second.

“Oh shit, you’re a god awful liar.” He chuckles with his head still tilted back, his black bangs falling from his face.

“That wasn’t a lie!” I retort loudly, offended that he would even _think_ that I was lying. I mean… I did, but he doesn’t have the right to see straight through me!

“You’re a riot, Eren with an E.” He lowers his head again to look at me. His eyes are lit up with mirth and the smirk that is killing me is still present of his lips. “And you have good taste in cigs.” Suddenly, “Brad’s” face is about two inches away from my face. I swallow loudly, my eyes widening, but never leaving his steel gray ones.

“And,” he drawls slowly, “you’re exactly what I need right now.” Then just as suddenly, my personal space is sacred again. I can feel my heart beating in my throat. From excitement or nerves, I’m not sure. Maybe even a little bit of fear. I’m not sure.

With an amount of grace I could never achieve, “Brad” stands up. He slowly brushes the wrinkles and spare gravel from his jeans. When he speaks, it’s almost carefree. “Get up, kid. We’re going out.”

For the third time, my mouth opens from shock. “Where?” I finally spatter out.

“Brad” eyes me briefly before turning and walking to his car. He rounds the vehicle while he replies, “A party. Look, I don’t give a fuck if you come or not. You’ll just make things so much easier for me.” The car door is open. The car door is closed with “Brad” in the car. The car’s engine starts. The passenger’s window is rolled down.

“Are you coming or not?”

 

***

 

This is probably the most awkward car ride of my life. I can’t even light up a cigarette without him almost biting my head off.

“Don’t you fucking think about it, you prick! I’m not chancing you getting fucking ash everywhere!”

Now, I’m kinda afraid to move.

We’ve been driving for about fifteen minutes. “Brad” doesn’t take his eyes off the road, and the air conditioning is on. The air vents are directed straight towards my face, but like I said, I’m too afraid to move to move them away.

It’s when he turns onto a road I’m not familiar with that I finally speak up. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. We’re almost there.” He replies evenly.

“What do you need me for?” I question, finally feeling comfortable enough to not be a human statue.

“Brad” sighs and stops at a stop sign. No one is behind us so he looks over to me and sits for a second.

“Revenge.”

Confusion sweeps across my brows. “Revenge?”

“Brad” hums, “Well. Jealousy. I need you to help me make someone jealous.” He turns back towards the road and continues driving.

“Who?” I slowly remove my arm from my lap and rest it on the door. _Yes. Success._

“My ex.”

I whip my head to face him, my eyes going wide. “Your ex?”

“Brad’s” finger taps the steering wheel in consideration for a second. “And my best friend I guess.”

My head feels kind of heavy. “Can I get the back story to this please?” I whimper. This is terrible. My brain is already fried from finals. I don’t need all this.

“What more is there to tell? I need you to act like you want my dick around my ex-boyfriend slash best friend who broke up with me because he apparently ‘fell in love with someone else.’” He growls, his smug façade dropping.

For a second, there’s only one thought that flashes through my mind. And it’s big, it’s flashing, and it’s neon: _He fucks dudes!!!!!!_

I quickly wash that thought away.

I bite my lip in concentration, then respond, “But if he’s in love with someone else, then he won’t get jealous of you.”

This time, “Brad” chuckles, a seemingly dark look on his face. “False. He will.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because we had the best sex.” He smiles almost cruelly at the road ahead of him.

A shudder or two runs up and down my spine.

We’re quiet for a second, him because I get the feeling he doesn’t talk much, me because honestly? I just went outside to escape from my clothes for ten minutes. I didn’t think I’d finally have a conversation with my hot older neighbor I’ve always admired from a distance, let alone be in the same car with him on our way to a party to make his ex-boyfriend jealous.

What does that even entitle in the first place?

As if “Brad” could read my mind, he asks, “Before we do this, can I ask your sexual orientation? Not to discriminate or anything, but if you were straight, you’d probably not be here or be being a fuckboy about it.”

“I’m bisexual.” I answer, before I ask, “What about you?”

“Used to say I was bisexual. But that was just to give the distant religious aunts hope of me settling down with a nice girl who wears pearls and stockings for a purely innocent reason—,”

“There’s no way stockings can be innocent. No way.” I interrupt.

“Brad” nods his head. “I know right? At least not anymore, not with all the pervs and their school girl kinks. I mean, not complaining but still. But yeah, I’m on a strict dick diet.”

I chuckle, “Jesus, don’t say it like _that_.”

“It’s the truth, Eren with an E.” There’s a small grin blessing his cheeks.

“Brad” then slowly drives the car into a neighborhood. A neighborhood I’ve never had the pleasure of being in.

“The party’s in _Sina’s Circle_?” The tone of my voice must have tagged on a thousand question marks to the end of my sentence.

“He _lives_ in Sina’s Circle. This is his party.” He answers, amused, I bet, at my reaction.

“I’ve never been here before. Dude, Brad, _millionaires_ live here, I mean look at t—holy shit that house has a tower. _A tower,_ god damn it.” My face is basically pressed up against the window.

“You get your filthy face and fingers off my window now, or I swear to God,” “Brad” threats with a low voice.

I quickly retract my hands and face, but that doesn’t stop me from observing the passing mansions with wide, childlike eyes.

“How can he live here? Holy shit, his parents must be professional ass wipers for, like, the president or some king, maybe.”

A small laugh erupts from the man next to me. “Shit. That was funny. But no, his dad owns a pretty popular company and his mom is a well-known erotic novelist.”

My wide eyes now face him. “Erotic novels?”

“How do you think me and him got so good at sex? His mom is _really_ good at her job.”

I make a face. “That’s kind of fucked up.”

“Brad” smiles evilly. “I know.” 

Sina’s Circle is made up of mansions that form two semi-circles. The street you turn on to drive into the neighborhood opens up into three streets, one that curves slightly to the left, one that is straight through the semi-circles, and the one that curves slightly to the right. The streets make up one large circle you can drive all the way around, or straight through. I heard it’s the perfect place to go see Christmas lights. Rich people like Christmas, and they like one-upping their neighbors. So I heard each year there are extravagant lightshows.

“Brad” turns down the street going right, and turns onto a bricked driveway two mansions in. The building the meets us at the end of the driveway makes my fairly decent house look like a broom closet.

“Please tell me your ex has siblings. There’s no way a single child and two parents need all that fucking space.” My voice is a mixture between wonder and disgust.

“Nope. Only child. He has his own wing. That’s where the party is. The place is so fucking huge and soundproof, his parents couldn’t hear anything if he had the whole fucking county in his living room.”

I slump in my seat, feeling like I’ve lost a game I was unaware I was even playing. “Life is unfair.”

“Amen.” “Brad” says.

Cars are scattered everywhere, but the driveway is so long and wide, “Brad” finds no problem finding a spot. We’re parked about 100 yards away, and I can see people loitering outside the right side of the mansion. A door with a giant archway above it is open and there’s a fountain glistening in the party lights in the yard in front of the door. There’s a giant bush fence that wraps around the side of the mansion where I assume more people are. It probably leads to a clearing or the backyard or garden or fucking _Quiddish field_ , or something.

This is ridiculous.

I’m glad I got in the car.

“Alright Eren with an E,” Brad says when we both climbed out of the car, “I’m going to tell you a couple things I expect from you tonight.”

My brain is still drunk on the sight before me so I just kind of hum in response.

“Okay. One: ruffle your hair.”

This makes me face him. “What?”

He tsks, shaking his head in disapproval like I’m an idiot for not understanding. “It needs to look like we just had sex.” So without warning, his hand are in my hair and he’s shaking and pulling on the strands.

I look at him, perplexed. “You’re a bitter person, aren’t you?”

“The saltiest,” he answers, pulling back his hands from my hair, then nodding slightly in approval. “Alright, next, I’m gonna have to give you a hickey. Don’t pop a boner on me, okay?”

My breath totally _didn’t_ get caught in my throat, but I was too slow to question him before his body was pressed up against mine and his hand was at the base of my neck.

“Relax,” he whispers on my skin. A thousand tiny icy pricks stab down my spine and I do the exact opposite. I tense the fuck up.

His lips are warm on my neck. They caress my skin gently before I feel his lips part and a warm tongue trail lightly on my neck. My eyes immediately look up at the sky.

_Look at the stars. Look how they shine for you. And all the things you do. And they were all yellow._

When “Brad” starts to suck on my skin, I take a deep breath.

And disguise it with nervous babble. “Hey, Brad?”

A sharp bite to my skin, then he hums in question, continuing to suckle on my neck.

“Wanna know how I know you’re gay?” I say breathless.

“Brad’s” shoulder shrugs up against my chest.

“Cause you listen to Coldplay.” Still fucking breathless.

“Brad’s” lips leave my skin with a snort. The raven immediately steps back and looks at me with amusement in his eyes and written on his face. “You think of weird things during foreplay.” He chuckles lowly.

My eyes go wide and I can feel a blush flood my cheeks. “That wasn’t foreplay!”

“Brad” shakes his head in merriment when he speaks, “Wanna know how I know _you’re_ half gay?”

I exhale deeply, wishing I could light a cigarette. “How?”

“Brad’s” eyes lower to my waist. My eyes follow.

“Fuck you!” I screech, covering my obvious arousal. “Anyone would get turned on by that!”

A thin eyebrow quirks up. “Anyone?”

“You suck, you know that?”

“Not for you, Pookie.” “Brad” replies with a snort.

After a minute of awkwardly avoiding the raven’s eye connect, I let my hands drop, not needing to cover anything anymore.

“Alright, now that that’s settled. One last thing I need from you tonight.” “Brad” sounds mostly cheerful, like he’s gaining great pleasure from making me uncomfortable.

“You know what? What do I get out of this, uh? What are you gonna do for me?” I ask heatedly, still not looking at him.

“Eren.”

For the first time that night, I hear “Brad” say something with no mirth, with no jeer anywhere near his lips. He said my name. And he said it seriously. I finally look at him.

“The last thing I’m asking is to just listen to everything I tell you. I promise it won’t be too bad. Just stay near me and do as I say. And after tonight, I owe you a favor. Not just any favor. But a ‘No questions asked’ favor.” “Brad” holds out his hand.

I eye him for a solid second, before taking his hand. It’s warm.

“Deal?” His gray eyes are piercing into mine.

I nod slightly. “Deal.”

“Brad” nods back and releases my hand. “Alright, we good to go?” He starts to turn to walk towards the party.

“Wait!” I shout, nerves flooding my stomach.

He stops, but glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“What’s your name?” I ask, almost embarrassed.

“Brad” chuckles and faces forward again. “You’re really surprising. I was wondering how long you were gonna go before asking.” He looks back over his shoulder and makes eye connect with me. “It’s Levi.”

Then he turns and walks toward the party.


End file.
